


This Is Gotham, After All

by Periazhad



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Kills Joker (DCU), Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd Returns Home, Jason Todd-centric, Panic Attacks, Suicidal Thoughts, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28614120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Periazhad/pseuds/Periazhad
Summary: Jason can’t stay in Gotham with Joker alive.But once Joker is dead, he sees himself without the tinge of pit rage and can’t abide it.
Comments: 17
Kudos: 353





	This Is Gotham, After All

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of the pit receding deep in Jason if Joker dies got in my head and I needed to see what would happen. I'm probably going to come back to this idea, again, and see how it plays out a different way.

Jason gets back in Gotham and realizes his plan won’t work. His skin is crawling just being in the same city as Joker. He can’t sleep, can’t eat, everything is tinged green, and when he’s holding a duffle bag full of heads, he realizes he’s gotten out of control.

He thinks about his plan, about making Bruce choose, about making Robin bleed. He still loves the plan, but he thinks he’s going to love Joker dead more.

Arkham security is a joke. Green starts to uncoil as Jason thinks about how Bruce lets murderers go free year after year, but he shoves it down. He wants to be present when Joker dies, he wants to know it’s done. He’d thought about taking Joker, making him suffer, making him pay, but ultimately the thought of being near Joker, touching Joker, made his heart race and his vision green. Jason knows killing is sometimes necessary, but his pit-tinged murder sprees leave him feeling sick. He doesn’t want to think about what he would end up doing if he had to spend that much time with Joker.

So when he gets to Joker’s cell, he just pulls out his gun and double taps him in the head. Nice and quick. Joker’s laugh is still ringing in his ears, but it’s done. And then pit recedes deep into him, and Jason realizes with a lurch that he’s never been free of it. He’s suddenly terrified he’s still not free from it.

How many people has he murdered? How many really deserved it? He was planning to assault Robin, to assault a child, just because he was angry? Jason is worse than any abuser out there, he had planned it out. He realizes he’s shaking and flees Arkham.

He can’t believe he was going to break Joker out of Arkham just for a showdown with Batman. He knows what Gotham is like, the crazy shit that goes down, what Joker is like, what if he ended up being responsible for Joker escaping? Even the thought of Joker’s dead body cooling behind doesn’t ease the rising nausea.

Back on the mainland, he hesitates. He’s not sure where to go, now. The pit isn’t whispering, all his previous plans seem abhorrent, he’s still shaking. He’s at his motorcycle, getting on, not even sure if he’s safe to drive, not sure he cares if he’s not safe to drive, the world is probably better off without him, he came back to life just to be like this? 

He wanted Bruce to prove he loved Jason enough to kill? Jason knows Bruce doesn’t kill, and he knows Bruce loves him. There’s not a viciousness in Bruce to let him murder to avenge, that’s why he’s so damn good as Batman, and Jason can’t understand how the pit twisted that up in his mind.

As he gets back into Gotham, he focuses on driving. Maybe the world is better off without him, but he’s sure as fuck not going to make anyone else be responsible for his death. He may be a murdering maniac, but he’s not that selfish.

Somehow, he makes it back to a safehouse. He stumbles in, barely remembers to arm the traps, and burrows in the bed. The shaking gets worse and worse, Jason doesn’t remember ever feeling this sick. He’s hot and cold, sweating and shivering, the room is spinning.

A memory pops up, unbidden. He’s six, and his mom is dropping off food for his downstairs neighbor. She knocks and, when no one answers, they go inside. Ellen is on the sofa, shivering, sweating, looking awful. Going back up the stairs, he asks his mom what was wrong with her.

His mom sighs and says, “Oh baby, her body was used to getting some medicine every day, but she isn’t taking it anymore and it’s taking her a while to adjust.” That made sense to a six year old, as an older kid Jason realized it was just a pretty way to describe withdrawal.

Had he been addicted to the pit? He can’t remember feeling this clear headed, even with his shakes and nausea. He can still feel the pit, deep down, lurking, but he doesn’t think it’s influencing him anymore. If it was, surely he’d still feel that horrible glee about attacking a child.

He rolls off the bed, crawls to the bathroom and is sick in the toilet.

\---

Three weeks later, he’s walking home with takeout and spots a mugging in an alleyway. This fucking city, he thinks.

He hasn’t been able to stomach putting on Red Hood since the night he killed Joker. He bundled the helmet and armor away, and just...hasn’t. He doesn’t patrol, he’s done. The crime empire he’d started to build has surely been split back up, by now. He tries not to pay attention. He reads, he eats, he sleeps. Sometimes he watches a movie, but it’s hard to know what is and is not safe. He doesn't want to do anything that might risk waking the pit up. He's convinced himself, most nights, that the pit is quiet, that's he's not being influenced. He has to believe, or he'd go insane.

Crime Alley is fucking mess, but the last thing it needs is an unhinged, pit-crazed killer roaming the streets, brimming with frankly insane plans to clean it up. Let Bruce try to fix it, Jason just needs to be left alone. He can’t quite explain to himself why he hasn’t left Gotham, but perhaps it’s simply that Gotham is home.

He’s been lucky, up until now, in the few outings he’s managed. This is the first crime he’s seen, and he finds he can’t turn away, even as a civilian. He looks consideringly at his food and then shouts, “Hey! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Jason really doesn’t want to put his food down, and he’s hoping a shout will scare the mugger off.

No such luck. The mugger turns to him, with a sharp knife and mean look in his eye. The intended victim takes off down the alley, without even looking at Jason. Jason heaves a sigh. This fucking city. The mugger runs at him, and Jason just sidesteps, grabs the hand holding the knife and twists until the knife drops.

“Are you fucking serious? Do you run at people while holding a knife a lot, would you say?” The mugger tries to twist out of his grip, and Jason slams into the wall, with an arm across his throat. “Buddy, you picked the wrong person to try to assault. This is not how I wanted to spend my night.” 

The mugger is looking in his face with the dawning realization that he’s made a mistake when someone wrenches Jason backwards and says, “You don’t play nice with others, do you?” Jason spins around and sees Robin.

Oh shit, Robin. His stomach lurches and he backs away from Robin. Oh god, is the pit going to come back? Thinking about Robin was something he loved to do when he was high on the pit rage, his thoughts green and twisty and full of sick, malevolent pleasure. He distantly realizes he's trembling, but he can’t stop trying to tell if his vision is getting green, if there’s a whisper, if anything is changing. He’s trying not to be sick.

Nothing feels different, he doesn’t want to hurt Robin, but maybe it will change, maybe proximity will bring it back, oh why the fuck did he stay in Gotham? And shit, shit, shit, Robin thinks he was assaulting someone, not the other way around, he can’t get arrested, he’s supposed to be dead.

He forces the nausea down and says, “Dude was mugging someone with a knife and came at me when I objected. Can I go get my food now that you’ve heroically saved him?” His voice is faintly mocking, but Jason has always taken refuge in hitting first. The mugger starts volubly protesting, but Jason just snorts and turns away.

His food is still there, so he grabs it and hurries toward home. He makes it a block before Robin swings down in front of him. He can’t help the flinch and he’s sure Robin notices. He bites out, “Do ya really think I set my food down to go assault someone in an alley for fun? Have you had Rosa’s croquetas?” 

Robin holds up a green gloved hand, a glove Jason knows only too well. “Just wanted to say sorry for the misunderstanding. The guy picked up the knife and came at me, if you can believe that.”

Jason snorts and says, “Yeah, kid, it’s Gotham, no one here has common sense. What did you expect?” He gives the kid a look that clearly says someone who dresses like that to fight crime also lacks common sense. Jason knows this, firsthand.

But the kid brightens for some reason, and says, “Even you, risking Rosa’s croquetas to help a stranger in an alley. If we had more like you, perhaps I wouldn’t be necessary.” Jason thinks of all the blood on his hand, the people he’s murdered, the ones he can and can’t remember, thinks of the vicious glee he used to feel when planning his attack on Robin.

Jason can't chat with Robin with green visions of violence dancing in his head. He's been clean for three weeks, he's not having the pit come back, he's not. 

“Whatever, kid,” he says roughly, and brushes past. Robin doesn't follow

\---

Sometimes, Jason just sits and tries to remember who he was before the pit, before Joker, before Ethiopia. The pit healed his scars, healed his malnutrition. His body doesn’t even feel like his own, anymore. And everything he was after the pit wasn't him, was sibilant whispers, glowing green rage. 

He was angry, before, of course. Angry at all the injustice in Gotham, everyone who got away or kept breaking out. He was angry at Bruce, for doubting Jason and for being stupid about so many things. But Jason clings to the fact that pre-pit Jason got angry and ran away, and didn't go on a killing spree. 

He ran towards what he thought would be comfort, he still had some hope and faith. Jason doesn't know where he would run now, and maybe that's why he hasn't left.

He realizes, the night he runs into Robin, that he wants to run back. Back to the comfort he didn’t fully recognize as a child. Back to the Manor, back in time, crawl into Bruce's bed and have this all have been a dream. It wasn't him who drenched himself in red, he didn't plan to torture a child. He wants to feel Bruce hug him and whisper “Jaylad” into his hair. He wants, so badly it hurts, and Jason curls up in a ball and whimpers.

But he can't go back, ever. He lays awake and stares at his ceiling. He can't go back to Bruce, he can't go back to Robin, he can’t go back to Red Hood. But he can’t stay here forever. Oh, he has plenty of money, but he’s getting more and more restless. What if being restless brings the pit out? He can’t risk it. 

The morning after he realizes he can’t go back, he catches a bus to the central Gotham City Library. There were closer branches, but he wants to go back to a place that holds so many warm memories. He clings to any memory that isn’t pit tinged, especially once he realized that a lot of his memories are tainted by the pit. It slithered into some of his most precious memories, so now when he remembers the day Bruce adopted him, he just feels a poisonous jealousy that Bruce moved on so quickly. It takes work to remember the security and love and joy the memory used to bring him. Without the pit still whispering, he can tell himself that he died, Bruce was allowed to find happiness again, Bruce taught him not to dictate how others grieve, but remembering all of that is exhausting. It’s easier to just not think about those memories. 

The pit never slipped into his memories of the library, and he’s almost pathetically grateful to have something be easy and good for once. Just walking up the building fills him with a remembered warmth and joy, peace and safety. He’s fed, he’s got a safe home, and he can read as much as wants.

But as soon as he steps in the library, he hears Barbara’s voice, asking Bruce if they were here to make a library card. Barbara. How could he have forgotten? The days spent here, with Barbara helping him catch up on what he’d missed when he was surviving on the streets. Her laughter, her kindness, her warmth.

A gust of wind from the door opening startles him back into the present and he stumbles forward into the library. Barbara is sitting at the front desk, he really did hear her voice, but she comes around the corner and she’s in a wheelchair. He’s stunned, but she’s coming up to him, welcoming him to the library, asking him if he needs help.

Doesn’t she recognize him? He’s torn between a cascade of memories and present horror at her situation, manages to stammer out that he needs to sign up for a card. He half blindly follows her back, and only realizes it’s unusual to be led to a private room when she spins her chair back to face him and there’s ice in her eyes. He hasn’t seen her look so cold since the first time he met her and she said he’d never be as good as Dick Grayson. 

“Take off that face, right now.” Take off - oh shit, Jason remembers sending Clayface into Gotham wearing his face, he’d repressed so much from the pit he’d forgotten, shit, did Robin recognize him, too? 

He stares blankly as Barbara, and her gaze darkens. “I don’t know what game you’re playing-“

“It’s not a game.” Is that his voice, sounding so hoarse? But he doesn’t play games like this, not anymore.

Barbara hesitates, then says, “You’re not him.”

“I’m not,” Jason agrees, because hasn’t he spent the last several weeks trying to figure out who he was and who he is? He’s certainly not the Jason Barbara remembers. That Jason wouldn’t have hands stained in red. 

“But you ...” she trails off, studying him, trying to put it together. 

“I’m not your Jason, Barbie,” he says, the nickname falling off his lips automatically. 

She is immediately annoyed, then stunned. “Jason.” There is something in her voice Jason won't name and she's reaching out for him like he's something precious. “Jason, wait,” and he hadn't even realized he's backing towards the door, panic welling upside him. He can't be valued, wanted, not after what he's done. He'll tell her or she'll figure it out, and then - he shies away from picturing her face.

But he wants, badly. He didn't think it would be like this, he feels the need burning him up, the need to be seen for who he is, and still be wanted, and the open wonder on her face cuts into his already raw soul and he blurts out, “I was the Red Hood.” He stands there, waiting, trembling, overwhelmed.

Everything depends on her, and he can't look away. Her hand drops into her lap as her eyes get distant, as she's processing what he's said and what it means. And he doesn't want - he can't have her think - so he quickly says, “Talia threw me in the pit but I think - I think I'm better now.” His voice actually cracks mid sentence but he pushes through. God, he feels 14 again, not the 16 he was when he died, not the 19 he’s supposed to be now.

Her eyes focus back in on him with something like heartbreak in them, and he feels a lump in his throat and a stinging in his eyes. He wasn’t prepared for this, but would he ever have been?

Softly she says, “Jason,” and reaches back out. And she’s still looking gently at him, there’s no way she doesn’t know what Hood did, what the pit did, but she still - he chokes back a sob and says, “I killed the Joker.” She probably already knows, but he has to say it, say it to her face.

Her expression darkens, and Jason flinches, waiting for condemnation, but all she says is, “Thank you.” 

And he looks at her, and she’s still holding out her hand and he takes it, God help him he’s taking her hand and she’s pulling him down into a hug, he’d forgotten how good a hug could feel, and he’s crying, soundless, tears dripping down his face into her hair, on her shoulder, and he feels something wet on his neck and realizes she’s crying, too.

That’s how Dick finds them, responding to Barbara’s initial distress call. Jason jerks his head to see Dick standing there, staring. His voice is wondering and he says, “Little Wing?” But this is Dick Grayson, Barbara had always been practical, she understood the need for the permanence of death, but Dick believed in Bruce’s ideals wholeheartedly, even when he didn’t believe in Bruce. 

Dick won't understand, and Jason has to flee. He stumbles out of Barbara’s lap and lands on the floor, hard. He can’t seem to get up, he’s sliding back until he reaches a wall and he realizes he’s trapped, Dick at the door, he won’t get out, and he buries his head in his hands. He's trapped, he can't even stand, Dick is going to judge him, he's never been good enough, it's all over.

There’s so much grief and pain inside him, he can’t process it all. Dying is mixed with crawling out of the Lazarus Pit, jumbled with Joker swinging a crowbar, regret at leaving Bruce and safety, and Jason holding a duffle bag full of human heads, but he also sees his plan to torment Robin next to Talia congratulating him on his first kill and the thrill he felt at both things. He realizes he's crying, like his heart is breaking, but he didn’t know he had one left to break.

He can hear noises, knows they’re talking about him. Jason wants to know what they’re going to do to him. He knows what he deserves. Maybe Dick will see how fucked up Jason is and make an exception to Bruce’s ideals. Maybe that’s the best option. Jason can’t live with himself, his memories choppy and ruined, with blood being the most vibrant memory, and everything poisoned by the pit. 

He can tell they’re getting closer, and he curls up. Dick carefully sets Barbara down next to Jason, then sits on his other side. Neither one touches him and Jason is grateful to not know what more comfort is like before it gets ripped away from him, but having them so close and not touching hurts and he realizes everything is going to hurt, forever. 

Not that he deserves anything better. 

Barbara says, “Jason,” and she knows and she understands and she at least won’t turn him away, though she’d never get between him and Dick, and Dick will never understand. Jason can’t stop himself and turns into her shoulder, still crying, and she wraps an arm around him. 

Dick says, “Jason,” and Jason flinches, he’s sure Barbara told him, but can’t he just have a moment of peace before Dick ruins it, can’t he just - he’s sobbing so hard he can’t even think, he just feels this horrible pain inside him. 

Eventually the door opens again and Jason freezes. He stops crying, stops breathing, stops feeling, stops thinking.

Because he knows who Dick and Barbara would call in, and it’s not Robin. 

He hears Batman’s harsh intake of breath and then he drops to his knees next to Jason. There are fingers on his chin, tilting him up to the light, and Jason closes his eyes but the tears start to fall anyway. 

There’s no point in hiding, Batman knows everything. Jason supposed he’s surprised this confrontation didn’t happen earlier, but he’s grateful to have a had a few weeks of freedom before he pays the price for his actions.

It feels like giving up, surrendering, as he whispers, “I was the Red Hood, B. But - Talia threw me in the pit and I couldn’t-” he knows it’s a poor excuse, not worth anything. “I killed Joker,” with a stronger voice, the one thing he doesn’t regret in or out of the pit madness. But he still can’t open his eyes, he’s clinging to Barbara like she can save him, Bruce’s fingers firm on his chin. It’s all out in the open, he’s not hiding, and now - 

Bruce hoarsely says, “Jaylad?” 

Hearing that, what he wants back more than anything, what he knows he won’t ever have to have again, but is so close, it’s tormenting him, breaks him. He flings himself into Bruce’s arms, because Bruce will always, always, always catch him, and he cries onto Bruce’s shoulder and sobs, “Dad, I just want to come home.” He just wants his dad to love him.

Bruce’s arms are tight around him, he’s whispering something into his hair but Jason doesn’t hear it as he shakes apart.

Bruce picks him up and they settle into a chair, Jason’s face hidden in Bruce’s chest. Eventually, Jason stops crying, but he refuses to look up. He knows he can’t go home, he knows this won’t last. He has killed so many people, Bruce won’t want him, he’s not the Jason they remember, he doesn’t even know who he is right now.

He can’t wait for this to be ripped from him anymore. Bruce will want to put him in Blackgate, or maybe Arkham, maybe the pit isn’t really gone, so soon there will be someone else opening the door, taking Jason away. He won’t be able to fight it, he doesn’t have a reason to fight it. He’s given up, surrendered, letting it all come. But he has to know.

“Is it Blackgate, or Arkham?” Bruce flinches and a low, wounded noise comes from Dick. Barbara, back in her chair, wheels up next to him and puts her hand on his shoulder.

“Jason, no.” Her voice is gentle, but firm. “No one is sending you anywhere.”

Dick says, “We would never send you away, not for something that wasn’t your fault.” Jason flinches, because the pit was him, was part of him, it didn’t create thoughts, it just encouraged them and made them worse, but they were there in the first place. Surely, Bruce at least knows this.

Bruce is silent, and Jason tenses, because this is the end, and it will hurt, but it will be over, and Bruce says, “Jaylad, you’re alive. Nothing else matters.” And Jason, he doesn't understand. Of course it matters, he murdered people, his hands might as well be stained in red! 

He shoves himself off Bruce’s lap, and looks at him for the first time. He’s sure his eyes are red and swollen, he’s shaking, but he’s glaring, and says, “I broke your most important rule, more than once, and I enjoyed it!” He’s shouting by the end, he realizes, when the room is filled with a ringing silence.

Dick looks miserable, Bruce looks calm, his eyes so gentle and understanding it somehow hurts, but Barbara has her sharp gaze on him. Out of all them, he knows she’ll understand.

“Do you enjoy it now, Jason?” What kind of stupid question is that? She should know better. He hasn’t been Red Hood in weeks, he just had a mental breakdown in front of them. Of course he doesn’t enjoy it now.

“No,” he spits out, furious and defiant.

She’s still looking at him and she says, “Do you know what a Lazarus Pit does to a person?”

“I’ve seen Ra’s Al Ghul and I’ve had green in my head for a while, yeah, I know it makes you crazy. But it doesn’t,” he chokes, “It doesn’t put anything there that wasn’t already there. It was me, they were my ideas, Bruce knows,” he swings to Bruce, almost desperate, Bruce looking steadily back at him, “He knows how I felt about killing, how I feel about it, that it’s necessary, the pit just…” and he stopped, because what did the pit do? It whispered and twisted and confused and goaded, but it was still him, deep down. An addict is still responsible for their actions. 

Even if they didn’t take the drug willingly? A voice says, but it’s not a green hiss, and Jason covers his face with his hands and whispers, “You’re supposed to hate me. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

“Jaylad,” Bruce says, standing up and holding out a hand, “come home.” Jason looks at his hand. He doesn’t think it’s a trick. This is real, fuck, this is real. The nightmare isn't gone, but he can go home. He can go back. 

\---

Barbara watches them go, planning to go to the Manor at the end of her shift. She knows she wasn’t supposed to confront him on her own, she’s not Batgirl, but she was so furious seeing someone wearing Jason’s face again that she couldn’t wait. And now she’s glad she didn’t. There will be tests and tests and tears and stories, but she believes it’s really him. Strange things happen here. This is Gotham, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm new to writing and I hesitated over add Barbara's perspective at the end. Jason was confused and twisted, he wasn't going to give any kind of closure, and ending it without seeing them walk away together didn't feel right, but I'd love opinions of what other people might think.


End file.
